


Emet-Selch's Request

by JRC



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Grandpas? Grandpas., I don't even ship it but I hurt myself thinking about it so here we are, Left G'raha Tia ambiguous in case you hc him as trans :), Listen this isn't really an Emet/Exarch fic, M/M, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Peeled Exarch, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Safe Sane and Consensual, Will Someone Please Fix Emet-Selch's Slouch, You'll understand by the end, something about a trashfire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27230869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JRC/pseuds/JRC
Summary: It was a peculiar request, to be certain. G’raha had nearly ordered Emet-Selch out of his room as soon as his brain had processed it. But the Ascian had a way with words, and with his sinfully talented fingers, and he had coaxed G’raha gradually back into his armchair and into another massage, which this time the Exarch allowed, while the Ascian raced to explain himself.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch
Comments: 4
Kudos: 53





	Emet-Selch's Request

**Author's Note:**

> sorry not sorry, in advance

“ _ Dearest _ Exarch,” Emet-Selch’s voice purrs, just beside G’raha Tia’s hood, and he resists the instinct to spin around only because this is far from the first time the Ascian has appeared so suddenly, and so very close to his person.

“Emet-Selch,” He responds politely, if perhaps a little stiff. The miqo’te flips a page in the tome he has been reading, despite knowing he will make no further progress this night, not with the Ascian meandering about his chambers. “Is there something in particular I can help you with this evening? Or have you come to make a nuisance of yourself?” G’raha asks, not bothering to lift his eyes from the faded text on the page beneath his fingers as he speaks.

“Oh, I have come to be a nuisance, as ever,” the Ascian’s smug voice continues, and G’raha glances up briefly with a carefully-crafted expression of disinterest to nod, indicating the Ascian may continue before he turns his attention back down to the tome in his lap. Emet-Selch steps around the miqo’te’s armchair, smirking down at him with that inscrutable golden gaze of his. “But I  _ did _ also wish to request your help with a small matter.”

That does draw G’raha’s interest, and he glances up, mindful to keep his expression polite, disinterested, as his crimson eyes follow Emet-Selch, who has begun to pace around the mito’te’s room. “You already know I will not help with any of your plans for-”

Emet-Selch rolls his eyes, throwing his hands up in the air as he turns his back on G’raha, shaking his head. “Yes, yes, obviously. There are no grand plans at play here, my dear Exarch,” he sighs, folding his arms over his chest as he turns, fixing the miqo’te with an exasperated look. “The help I seek is minor, inconsequential, completely harmless, and you may even find you enjoy it. There. Have I dispelled all your fears?”

Ever distrustful of the Ascian’s motives, G’raha narrows his eyes, studying Emet-Selch for a long moment. What could an Ascian, could Emet-Selch ask of him that he may enjoy? The miqo’te has a sneaking suspicion that his definition of “enjoy” and Emet-Selch’s may be very different, but his curiosity is mounting. Finally, G’raha inclines his head, inviting the Ascian to explain himself.

“You’re a darling, truly,” Emet-Selch smirks, leaning up against one of G’raha’s tome-laden tables, and fixing the miqo’te with an intense look. “Now, before you grow alarmed by what I am about to say, let me preface it with the following; I have no interest in disclosing my knowledge to your precious hero.”

G’raha frowns, sitting up straighter in his seat at that, and closing the tome in his lap. What information did Emet-Selch have that he felt he needed to reassure  _ G’raha _ he wouldn’t tell the  _ Warrior of Light _ ? “I thought you had agreed to aid our heroes by providing them with the full extent of your knowledge…”

Emet-Selch sighs again, shaking his head up at the ceiling and waiting for G’raha to stop speaking before he looks back down at him with a devious smirk. “Very well then, dear Exarch, if you wish me to share this information with your sweet hero, I shall be all too glad to do so… but forgive me for thinking that you wore that absurd hood of yours to keep your identity a  _ secret _ ,” the Ascian drawls, flicking a finger towards the miqo’te, sending a gust of air directly at his face. 

The gust catches the inside of his hood and pulls it back, leaving G’raha’s face and hair bare to Emet-Selch. He scrambles to pull his hood back on, moving on instinct, the jolt of pure fear at the thought of the Warrior of Light wandering into his rooms spurring him almost into a panic.

“Oh, don’t be so  _ boring _ ,” the Ascian chides him, flicking his finger again, and tugging G’raha’s hood back off with another gust of air. “I could not care less who you are to the Warrior of Light, nor why you feel the need to hide your face from your precious hero. Nor, as I said before, do I intend to tell any of them what you look like underneath that dreadful cowl. What  _ I _ am interested in are your  _ eyes _ .”

G’raha lays a hand over his racing heart as he takes in Emet-Selch’s words, his disinterested expression. He allows the hood to fall back this time, and does not reach to adjust it, instead shifting until he can pull his feet up beneath his legs on the armchair, curling in on himself as he considers the Ascian. There are concerning implications to Emet-Selch’s interest in his eyes, given that they are the marker of Allagan royalty, the blood which flows through his veins and allows him control over the Crystal Tower.

But then again… if Emet-Selch wanted his blood, there would be much easier ways to obtain it. Drugging him and taking it in the night. Slitting his throat. And so on… so if it isn’t his blood that the Ascian wants… what is his interest in G’raha’s eyes?

Emet-Selch sighs, rolling his eyes as he wanders over to G’raha’s chair, slipping around the back of it and resting his hands on the miqo’te’s shoulders, beginning to massage them with an expertise that startles him. “I can  _ hear _ you overthinking this, Exarch. Relax a moment, would you? Keeping so many secrets from whilst simultaneously lusting after those gorgeous heroes from the Source must be so exhausting for you,” he teases, an obvious mirth in the Ascian’s words as he digs his thumbs into tight bundles of muscle at the base of G’raha’s neck, and the miqo’te lets out a shaky exhale. 

He begins to melt beneath Emet-Selch’s capable fingers, having nearly forgotten what it felt like just to receive a simple massage, but G’raha tenses up anew, his tail puffing up as he hurtles out of his chair, turning to stare back at the Ascian, whose words have finally registered in his mind. “ _ Lust _ ?” he manages to choke out, turning away from Emet-Selch and folding his arms over his chest, even as he fights the blush that threatens to creep up his cheeks. “That’s absurd. I  _ respect _ the heroes from the Source, very much, and…”

“And would die a happy man if you were to perish on one of their cocks. My dearest Exarch, please do not try to lie to me,” Emet-Selch smirks, straightening up (inasmuch as he ever straightens up) and leaning against the back of G’raha’s hastily-vacated armchair. “Or have you forgotten so soon that I am immortal, and  _ entirely _ too familiar with every nuance of body language there is?” G’raha’s cheeks burn as he turns to glare at the Ascian, whose smirk only grows wider. “This, too, I intend to keep secret from your  _ dear _ heroes. I simply thought it relevant to the topic at hand… that being, my earlier request. If, that is, you will still hear me out?”

The miqo’te reaches up and lays his crystal palm against his cheek, closing his eyes as he feels the heat flee from his flushed cheek into the crystal. Well, seeing as Emet-Selch had already laid everything else out on the table… “Fine, Emet-Selch,” G’raha frowns, opening his eyes just to glare at the Ascian. “If you have quite finished exposing me, then let us hear your request.”

Emet-Selch’s lips curl into a devious grin, and he steps around G’raha’s armchair, slouching down into it and resting his arms along the back, crossing his legs and making himself comfortable. “I knew you could be reasonable, Exarch. As for my request… I think you’ll find it benefits both of us. It’s quite simple, really…”

His patience growing thin, G’raha grits his teeth, waiting for the Ascian to approach his point already. The request has something to do with his eyes, this much he knows already, but the way Emet-Selch had read him like a book regarding his perhaps not-so-innocent admiration of the Scions has him on edge. The Exarch is not inclined to wait long for the Ascian to make his request, but he wills himself to be calm, at ease, at least hear the insufferable man out.

“You’re a moron, and your voice irritates me, so I will gag you, but my request is this: I want to fuck you,” Emet-Selch says, his lips forming the words, his voice curling around them, but G’raha’s brain has stopped at the word  _ fuck _ and refuses to start again. “I want to gaze into your gorgeous crimson eyes as I fuck you, dear Exarch.”

* * *

It was a peculiar request, to be certain. G’raha had nearly ordered Emet-Selch out of his room as soon as his brain had processed it. But the Ascian had a way with words, and with his sinfully talented fingers, and he had coaxed G’raha gradually back into his armchair and into another massage, which this time the Exarch allowed, while the Ascian raced to explain himself. 

Immortality was lonely, as the Exarch knew all too well, in his own limited form of immortality. There was something about skin-on-skin contact, the sensation of two bodies colliding, that simply could not be captured in other types of interaction, Emet-Selch reasoned. And how long had it been since the Exarch had been able to indulge in carnal pleasures, anyway?

As for G'raha's eyes, Emet-Selch assured him that he simply had a weak spot for the color red, which the miqo'te absolutely did not believe was the Ascian's only motivation. But ever one to dissemble, he assumed he would get no further explanation from Emet-Selch on that point.

Perhaps it was the way Emet-Selch just kept  _ talking _ , sounding almost desperate for G’raha to assent, if he did not know any better. Perhaps it was the delightful shoulder massage. Perhaps it was his own extended dry-spell, the way his legs quiver at the thought of someone  _ wanting _ him again, as old and broken and unworthy as he is.

But he agrees to Emet-Selch’s request.

* * *

And so G’raha Tia finds himself lying naked beneath a single sheet on his bed, one of the leather thongs he usually wears around his arms knotted around his head and between his teeth, gagged, while he waits for Emet-Selch to finish undressing and join him. The Ascian is on the other side of the room, neatly folding up his garments as he takes them off, one piece at a time. G’raha spares a moment to wonder why he does not simply snap his fingers and make them disappear, but then, if he spares any more moments, he may begin to wonder just why he had agreed to this, so he stops wondering, and admires Emet-Selch’s lithe form instead. 

Even with the pronounced slouch in his back, the Ascian - or perhaps the Garlean body - is in very good physical shape. He bears no scars, which is odd until G’raha reminds himself that the body is little more than a clone. There is muscle rippling beneath his pale skin, but not so much as to be noticeable if one is not searching for it. It seems a mage’s body, suitable, capable, but nothing to gawp at. G’raha finds his gaze softening as he studies Emet-Selch’s ungainly limbs, the way his skin pimples with gooseflesh at the comparative cool of the room without his standard robe, the way his fingers fumble with his earring for a moment before freeing it and placing it atop his gloves. Like this, the Ascian seems almost…

G’raha clears his throat, both to distract himself from that dangerous line of thought, and to remind Emet-Selch that he is waiting. The Ascian glances over his shoulder and smirks at him, prompting G’raha to shiver as he feels that golden gaze sweep over his bare form. Emet-Selch stalks back across the room and over to the bed, where he perches just on the edge and reaches up to stroke the miqo’te’s cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle. “How is this?” Emet-Selch asks, stroking his thumb along the length of the leather cord in his mouth, slipping his finger underneath it to verify that it is not too tight. “It’s alright?” The Ascian asks, his eyes flicking between each of G’raha’s, waiting until the miqo’te nods before smiling, and nodding in return.

“Right then,” Emet-Selch says, some of his typical bravado returning as he stands from the edge of the bed, and stretches his arms up above his head, which lifts his erection into view, fully hard and curling up towards his stomach, nestled in a bed of chestnut brown curls. G’raha’s eyes widen at the sight, and he moves to lick his lips, only to flush as his tongue merely rubs against the leather knot in his mouth instead. It’s long and thinner than he had expected, although G’raha suspects he would still struggle to wrap his forefinger and thumb around it even at its thinnest point. It’s exactly the sort of cock he’d loved to have inside him as a young man, and the miqo’te shivers, his faded memories of such encounters rushing back to the forefront of his mind.

“Like what you see?” the Ascian asks, his voice unbearably smug, and G’raha rolls his eyes, pointedly tearing his gaze away from Emet-Selch’s (admittedly delicious-looking) cock. “No, please,” the Ascian chuckles, crawling onto the bed just below G’raha’s knees, notching himself between the miqo’te’s thighs with a practiced ease. “Admire all you like. After all, the goal is to have it inside you ere long, is it not?”

G’raha squirms beneath the Ascian, reaching down to remove the sheet from his hips, eager to begin now that he has seen Emet-Selch’s member, remembered what it feels like to be  _ wanted _ . But he finds his hands stopped, caught by the Ascian’s much larger hands, which squeeze his own gently.

“You are certain you wish to do this, yes?” Emet-Selch asks, an uncharacteristic hesitation lurking behind his typical bravado as he gazes down at the miqo’te beneath him, golden eyes searching crimson intently. “No… misconceptions? I am nothing more than a strings-free fuck to you, and you are nothing more than a cocksleeve with pretty eyes to me?”

G’raha rolls his eyes, fixing the Ascian hovering anxiously above him with an exasperated look.  _ Isn’t it a little late for that _ ? His eyes seem to ask, and Emet-Selch smiles down at him, surprisingly genuine for a moment, before it twists back into his standard smirk. “You’re right, of course. You wouldn’t still be here if you did not want to be. Forgive me, I believe I may be spending too much time among mortals recently. Your delicate sensibilities are rubbing off on me.” 

The matter resolved, Emet-Selch wastes no further time, releasing G’raha’s hands and tugging the sheet down until the miqo’te’s lower half lays bare. He whistles low between his teeth, smirking up at G’raha as he brushes his knuckles, featherlight, along the miqo’te’s sex. “You should allow me to indulge you, should we find ourselves coming together under circumstances such as these in the future, my dear Exarch,” the Ascian purrs, as he nudges G’raha’s thighs apart, and reaches down to locate his entrance. Emet-Selch tests the give of his rim, applying just enough pressure to have G’raha squirming with building desire, rolling his hips down to find more friction. 

“You  _ did _ prepare yourself before I arrived, yes?” The Ascian asks, arching an eyebrow, to which G’raha rolls his eyes, nodding. He sucks in a sharp breath around the leather between his teeth as Emet-Selch sinks a finger abruptly into him, which has him clenching down reflexively. “You mortals are so impatient,” Emet-Selch sighs, producing a small glass vial of oil from thin air, wisps of dark magic dissipating as the bottle solidifies in his hand. “I will prepare you again myself, properly this time.” The Ascian pours a generous amount of oil into his palm and rubs his hands together, taking extra care with the fingers of his right hand before he waves the bottle away, and it disappears back to wherever it came from. Emet-Selch winks down at G’raha as he reaches one hand down to wrap around his own erection, slicking it up, before he leans in and smears oil across the miqo’te’s entrance.

G’raha whines as he feels the Ascian’s first finger press into him, stretching him just enough to pique his interest, but not nearly enough to keep it. That clever finger curls, and the miqo’te arches his back, glaring down at Emet-Selch, who simply smirks back up at him, wriggling his finger in response. “Patience, my dear,” he hums, before gently rubbing at the tight ring of muscle with his middle finger. He teases G’raha almost to the point of madness before finally slipping his finger inside, curling them both into his prostate and causing stars to explode behind his eyelids. G’raha cries out around the gag, and Emet-Selch tuts up at him, but he can hear a chuckle in the Ascian’s voice that belies his amusement. The miqo’te has barely adjusted to two of Emet-Selch’s fingers before the Ascian is pressing a third inside of him, and beginning to pump all three of his nimble fingers with a purpose.

G’raha is covered in a fine sheen of sweat when Emet-Selch finally withdraws his sinful fingers, and tries not to growl at the self-satisfied smirk the Ascian wears as he settles back onto his heels, observing the result of his labors. “You’ve waited, what, nearly three hundred years for this, my dear Exarch? Yet you writhe beneath me like you cannot wait another second?” G’raha rolls his eyes, resting his forearm over his face as he groans through the gag. Emet-Selch chuckles, reaching down with his clean hand to pat the miqo’te’s cheek. “There there, my dear. Just a little more patience is all I ask of you. You shall have my cock soon enough,” he hums, leaning back to stroke a fingertip around G’raha’s hole, which has him shivering anew.

The Ascian glances up at G’raha then, mischievous golden eyes meeting lust-blown crimson, and he positions himself at the miqo’te’s entrance. “Ready?” Emet-Selch murmurs, applying just a hint of pressure, which has G’raha gasping and clenching his hands in the sheets, nodding quickly up at the Ascian. “So eager…” Emet-Selch chuckles, resting one hand on the miqo’te’s hip and stroking his flank with a thumb, before beginning to press inside of him, never once taking his eyes off G’raha’s.

G’raha’s eyes flutter shut at the delicious stretch, the inexorable press of the Ascian’s cock into him. It’s been  _ so long _ . He reaches up to loop his arms around Emet-Selch’s neck, and feels the Ascian chuckle, before Emet-Selch’s hand is on his face, gently brushing the skin just below his eyelids. “Open your eyes for me, my dear Exarch,” the Ascian sighs, a smile gracing his lips as the miqo’te obeys, allowing him to indulge in the sight of his crimson irises once more. “That’s it, my dear,” Emet-Selch breaths, sounding almost reverent, if G’raha didn’t know better.

The miqo’te clings to Emet-Selch’s shoulders as the Ascian sheathes himself fully, both men exhaling shaky sighs once he finally bottoms out. He would make some kind of teasing remark about just how long it had been for Emet-Selch as well, but for the leather knot in his mouth… and the way the Ascian’s gaze seems to lose focus as he pauses there, waiting for G’raha to adjust. “Need a moment, my dear?” Emet-Selch asks, reaching up to brush his knuckles along the miqo’te’s cheek, and G’raha blinks, startled again by the Ascian’s uncharacteristic tenderness, but shakes his head.

Emet-Selch nods, closing his eyes for a moment as he inhales deeply, seeming to compose himself, before he begins to rock against G’raha’s hips, staring once more down into the miqo’te’s eyes, his own golden gaze glazed over by something else, something, G’raha thinks, that may not be simple lust. He only has a moment’s notice in Emet-Selch’s shift above him, placing his hands alongside the miqo’te’s flanks, before the Ascian is bucking into him with fervor, each thrust changing angles. He holds on to Emet-Selch’s shoulders as the Ascian searches, indulging the man’s peculiar interest in eye-contact, until his cockhead slams into G’raha’s prostate, ripping a groan from his throat, that comes out muffled around the leather knot.

The Ascian looks almost disappointed to hear G’raha’s voice, and his eyes refocus on the miqo’te’s, just before the Ascian frowns down at him. “Shh shh shh,” Emet-Selch hushes him, reaching up to lay a finger over G’raha’s mouth, before tenderly wiping away the drool that has begun to leak from the corners of his lips with a thumb, which he wipes off on the bed sheets. “No sounds. Just let me… just…  _ shh _ ,” he murmurs, the crease between his brows smoothing out as G’raha chokes back a whine. Fine. If silence is what the Ascian desires… G’raha rolls his eyes but tries his best to remain quiet, mindful to keep his claws tucked away as he clings to Emet-Selch’s shoulders.

He gives himself over to the pleasure, rocking there, arching into each of Emet-Selch’s calculated thrusts, clenching his teeth around the leather knot each time a particularly powerful thrust threatens to pry a moan from his lips. G’raha is wrapping his legs around the Ascian’s hips as his thrusts speed up, exhaling shakily as he feels his release draw near. “That’s it, my dear…” Emet-Selch purrs, reaching up to brush G’raha’s hair out of his eyes. “That’s it. Hold on just a little longer for me…” 

The Ascian says something else then, something in another language entirely, but G’raha is already teetering over the edge, clenching out around Emet-Selch’s perfectly long and tapered member deep inside him, digging his nails into the Ascian’s shoulder blades, arching up off the bed as he comes. Emet-Selch groans, leaning in until his forehead presses against G’raha’s, and the miqo’te opens his eyes, surprised to feel him there. No sooner than do their eyes meet, the Ascian is gasping, his hips stuttering against G’raha’s as he paints his inner walls with his seed. Emet-Selch squeezes his eyes shut, and G’raha blinks up at him, startled to see that golden gaze finally disappear behind shadowed eyelids. He sucks in a sharp inhale as he watches a tear tremble to the end of one of Emet-Selch’s sinful eyelashes, before it drops, glittering in the low light of the Exarch’s room as it falls onto his bare chest. 

The Ascian… is crying, G’raha realizes with a jolt. He moves to scramble back, but Emet-Selch’s arms are wrapping about his shoulders, holding the miqo’te tightly to his chest as his lithe frame begins to shake with sobs, and G’raha can feel more tears tumbling onto his chest. He cannot pull himself up and will not push Emet-Selch away, but G’raha does reach up and untie the leather thong from around his head, setting it aside on the sheets before carefully winding his arms around the Ascian. He holds him tentatively at first, not wanting to step over any boundaries, but fears that point may already have passed, what with the way Emet-Selch clings to him like a lifeline.

G’raha reaches up to card his fingers through the Ascian’s hair soothingly, his ears flattening atop his head as Emet-Selch groans, chokes out something in that same foreign yet familiar language, and sinks his nails into the miqo’te’s back. He does not move to displace the Ascian, but sits and endures the treatment, more shocked and concerned for Emet-Selch in this moment than he is for himself. His mind is racing as he thinks back to their fucking, tries to recall whether he had done something to upset the Ascian, but he can think of nothing. Except…

It clicks in his mind then, where he has heard the language Emet-Selch is still mumbling in before. The Ascian speaks it at almost twice the pace G’raha used to, back during his lessons… but the words tumbling from his tear-stained lips are old Allagan. And G’raha translates the words before he can stop himself, bid himself to forget them, for Emet-Selch’s privacy, if no other reason.

_ My love. My heart. My dear soul… how I miss you. My love... _

Suddenly, it makes sense why Emet-Selch had asked to see his eyes while they fucked. And G’raha can feel his heart throb, sympathetic to the immortal’s plight in this vulnerable moment, this instant rawer than a bare nerve. 

For after all, he is no stranger to love lost.

So he holds the Ascian to his chest, cards his fingers through his hair, and lets Emet-Selch cry himself to sleep in his arms.

Tomorrow, they can return to their antagonistic relationship. Tonight, G’raha will allow Emet-Selch this time to mourn.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, blame the book club. Or just come screech at me there! Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club: https://discord.gg/ME4eAEt


End file.
